


Subdermal

by Ishipbadasschicks (Awal)



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Jrots shitty story telling is not welcome here, Noone dies, Takes place somewhere in s3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awal/pseuds/Ishipbadasschicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: Lexa has a tattoo on her hip. Clarke can't seem to stop thinking about it after she catches a glimpse one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subdermal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tangledinprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangledinprose/gifts).



> For giving me the prompt (Even though I gave her a prompt first and I'm still waiting for my Clexa smut!) 
> 
> Subdermal: beneith the skin

Clarke's only seen a glimpse of the tattoo once.

She'd entered Lexa's room without waiting for a response to her knock, only to see Lexa rolling her shirt down over her stomach and smoothing her hands down her thighs.

Clarke didn't get a glimpse of the entire design, just black swirls reaching out from behind Lexa’s waistband, just enough to spark her interest.

Clarke couldn't take all of the credit for not sputtering the exact wrong thing. Her lack of reaction was a direct result of Lexa calmly sitting on the edge of her bed and buckling her boots as if it was a common occurrence to do so in front of Clarke.

Clarke had been so enamored by the domestic scene that she forgot the purpose for her visit.

Lexa’s inquisitive gaze went unanswered and Clarke could only hope that the heat warming her neck and chest didn't paint her face.

For an entire week after the incident, Clarke stared at the spot where she knew the tattoo existed.

She’d spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating what the tattoo could be, and exactly how far it stretched.

She'd become hyper aware of the rock and sway of Lexa’s hips, of how her stance seemed to tether her center to the ground, how fluidly she swiveled.

Clarke imagined how the tattoo would contort with Lexa’s movements if it would bend or contract with her muscles, or rise and fall with every step.

Yes, a week was more than enough time for Clarke to drive herself crazy obsessing for no reason other than curiosity.

Now, Clarke has the opportunity to stare without restraint. There is no audience to observe and no proceeding requiring any measure of her attention.

They have one of those rare moments of stillness that affords them the opportunity to unwind and relax. It's one of those moments where they gravitate to each other silently just to soak in each others presence.

Lexa’s bedroom is their preferred place to spend time together. It's more luxurious than Clarke’s room, and really, it's the only private place they can go and truly be alone without warriors standing guard within hearing range.

Even here, there are usually multiple guards stationed outside of the door but Lexa had ordered them several steps down the hall after sensing Clarke's discomfort.

Lexa crosses the room with her book in hand and Clarke is free to stare at the tattoo hidden beneath the thin layer of Lexa’s pants and her silky shirt.

Clarke remembers that grounder tattoos are somewhat spiritual. Kill tattoos mar their backs, tribal tattoos their arms, hands, and face--all visible places.

However, Lexa's tattoo is adorning her hip bone. nestling into the soft curve of flesh between the jut of bone and the softness of her stomach and pelvis. It is hidden like a secret, something very personal that is most likely Lexa’s and not Heda’s.

Clarke is perplexed by what it could be.

She's also suddenly jealous because the only thing she can think of that would hold such personal importance to Lexa is Costia.

She watches Lexa fold into the sofa, her hair in soft waves, her limbs completely relaxed.

Clarke has to roll her eyes at the barely contained amusement lighting her eyes, because of course Lexa is observant enough to notice, and of course she is patient enough to wait for Clarke to ask the question instead of volunteering the answer.

Clarke sighs, "What is it, Lexa?"

The corner of Lexa’s lip twitches, even as her head tilts in a show of ignorance.

"The tattoo." Clarke clarifies, then smiles slightly because she has to be more specific or Lexa will drag out her teasing."The one on your hip."

Lexa’s smiles too, not a full one, just enough to raise her cheekbones and draw attention to the line of her jaw and the plumpness of her lips.

Her eyes are still dancing when she rises from the sofa and closes the distance separating them. Lexa stops directly in front of Clarke, her hands undoing the fastenings tying her pants closed with practiced dexterity.

Lexa’s scent washes over Clarke and her breath catches in her throat. She is mildly embarrassed to be able to pick out the honey scent of Lexa’s soap, the floral oil in her hair, even the cinnamon spicing the ever burning candles and clinging to her skin.

Clarke has to focus to resist the urge to inhale deeply and instead maintain her slow breathing pattern.

When Lexa’s long fingers pull the final tie loose, she folds the side of her pants away from her left hip and her hand moves to hold her shirt out of the way so Clarke can inspect the entirety of the tattoo.

The vertical design is smaller than Clarke expected, softer.

Clarke ghosts her fingers over Lexa's flesh, following the bold lines into points and wisps that somehow remind her of daggers and femininity-- But they are stars, and it's gorgeous and powerful that their corners never meet.

The stars are framed by lines that wrap together so delicately that Clarke has to purposely consider them merging instead of knotting.

"For my people, stars hold a significant meaning--" Lexa begins softly.

Clarke makes the mistake of glancing up at her only to see that she is gazing away, her face no longer teasing, but contemplative.

Lexa swallows before she starts again, "Typically they stand for purity and guidance-”

"But this isn't typical," Clarke states studying the design.

"No." Lexa agrees. "This is the belief that stars are eternal. They don't live forever, however, when their light wanes a new star forms in its place, brighter than before--"

"Like reincarnation, your spirit living on after death."

"Yes. It is the permanency of existence and a reminder of the things that changed you-- for the better-- so that you may carry them with you into your next life."

//May we meet again//

"It's beautiful." Clarke breathes, Her fingers still tracing the black lines.

The ink resembles grounder tribal tattoos, but somehow - - not. "I haven't seen anything quite like this."

Lexa lets out a small huff and Clarke can feel it where her hand is stroking Lexa’s skin.

"There are no others."

Clarke frowns, "If it's your belief in stars, then--"

"In stars, yes, but the lessons that we imprint on them are unique to the individual."

Clarke traces a soft line that curves from a ribbon into a razor sharp point. This design wraps around its creation of stars in delicate wisps and dangerous points that in themselves create subtle stars.

The fluidity of the art makes Clarke wonder if the entirety of the design is dedicated to a sole reminder, "What does it represent?"

Clarke chances a glance up at Lexa’s face, and she is mildly startled when their eyes meet. The moment grows heavier with each second that passes and Clarke has almost decided to excuse herself from the intimacy when Lexa speaks.

"The sky," Lexa confesses softly.

//You//

Towering over Clarke, Lexa has never looked so small, so vulnerable.

As always Lexa’s eyes never waver as she allows Clarke to see into her heart. The tremble that rocks her body tells Clarke that she expects it to be broken, but she is willing to put it out there anyways.

Clarke is gutted. Her lungs release the last puff of air trapped in her chest yet her first instinct is one of protection and comfort and she doesn't question it.

Clarke immediately reaches out and takes the hand that Lexa is holding her shirt up with and their fingers interlace.

Before Clarke can decide whether to stand up or pull Lexa down, Lexa gracefully lowers herself to her knees.

This is the second time that Lexa has kneeled before her and Clarke is equally as breathless and humbled as the first time.

Clarke stares into Lexa’s eyes, lets the moment burn through her as flames heat her core and travel through her spine and extremities like a lit fuse.

When it reaches her throat and she forces a dry swallow she lifts her hand to Lexa's cheek and watches the subtle tilt of Lexa's head against her hand.

Lexa’s eyes flutter shut in utter trust and submission.

Clarke's thumb strokes Lexa’s cheek before she rests their foreheads together, craving the comfort from their contact.

Clarke is finally ready to admit that beneath the armor and duty, they are weak and selfish.

Despite what their people think or believe, Clarke and Lexa were not born for this.

They were forged into it by the cruelty of the world and the necessity for good to prevail.

They are just girls and they are willingly sacrificing their lives to give their people the chance to live theirs.

So If Clarke is going to practice the lessons she's been teaching she has to believe that they deserve better than living as vessels for their people's hopes and dreams.

She has to believe that they deserve to have their own.

The knot lumped in Clarke's stomach eases away, and the tension in her body follows.

With everything they've sacrificed for their people, they deserve to have some semblance of happiness when it is presented.

They deserve to be selfish, to let their guards down enough to be weak.

The first tear that rolls down Clarke's cheek is as hot as the ones that follow are cleansing.

Clarke squeezes the hand still intertwined with Lexa’s and allows herself the time to embody this change. To acknowledge that Every breath out of Lexa’s body since Clarke arrived in Polis has been an apology, every decision an amendment, every conversation atonement.

Clarke understands that Lexa broke her own heart at the entrance to Mount whether as well as Clarke's, yet, all of her actions since have selflessly uplifted and supported Clarke.

Lexa is the only person besides her father to ever love Clarke magnanimously. To give without expecting anything in return, to support without demanding allegiance, to offer advice without pushing a desired outcome.

Lexa has yet to realize that just by being herself, she’s done more than earn Clarke's respect, admiration, and forgiveness, she's also earned her love.

Clarke swallows the admission that she is in love and shifts against Lexa pressing their lips together with a softness that is reverent.

This kiss is reminiscent of their first kiss, It is slow and purposeful and conveys all of the emotions hiding behind their ribs and spilling down their cheeks in salty streams.

Their hands grip each other with more strength than necessary considering neither of them has any desire to escape.

Clarke uses a hand on Lexa’s neck to tilt her head and she pushes forward deepening the kiss, her tongue stroking the confines of Lexa’s mouth.

Lexa pushes closer to Clarke until she is flush against the chair and between Clarke's legs. Her hands fall to Clarke's hips and she kisses Clarke back with an intensity that makes Clarke's stomach jump and a soft moan escape her.

Clarke wants to explore more of Lexas skin with her lips and tongue but she is unwilling to give up the intimacy of kissing.

She settles for lifting Lexa’s shirt and separating their mouths only long enough to pull it over her head and drop it to the floor.

Clarke's hand's stroke and palm all of the newly available skin. Her hands follow the curve of Lexa’s sides around to her back and down to the swell of her ass.

Clarke's heart feels ready to burst, her only conscious thought a resounding _yes._

Lexa’s body presses against her, and even though Lexa is kneeling between her thighs she is not close enough.

There is no friction where they need it. No contact where she craves it.

It's not long before the limitations of their position begin to frustrate Clarke, and she pulls back far enough to halt their kissing.

Lexa immediately jerks back, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Clarke gives her a small reassuring smile, her hands not leaving Lexa’s body, "I want you, Lexa.” She says gently, sincerely. They both understand that Clarke means more than just physically, for longer than this moment.

Clarke's smile tilts with the hint of a smirk, ”I just want you in a bed first."

Lexa blinks away her panic and a smile spreads as she gives a quick nod. She rocks back on her knees getting her footing and standing smoothly.

Clarke takes a moment to appreciate the skin on display, to admire how long Lexas limbs are, and marvel at the fact that such a slight frame hides so much strength.

Lexa’s skin is soft and smooth, and as Clarke's eyes follow the path her hands traversed she finds very few scars, small and faded. Lexas’s armor has done an admirable job preserving her beauty, Yet Clarke vows to hear every story for every blemish sustained.

Lexa remains still under her gaze, but when Clarke meets her eyes she can see that Lexa’s pupils are blown wide and her lips are slightly parted as she pants for breath.

Clarke rises and closes the distance between them in one stride, pressing their breasts together and aligning their hips In a quest for friction.

This kiss isn’t timid or gentle, it’s hungry. As their tongues tangle and slide against each other, the world falls away and Clarke is left gasping for air, her womb fluttering.

She slides her hand into Lexas hair and fists it with a tug.

Lexa moans against her, and the gentle hands holding Clarke's body increase their pressure, Lexa’s fingertips burrow into Clarke's sides.

Clarke sucks on Lexa’s bottom lip and lets her teeth graze it.

Their hands find each other mid kiss, and Clarke's heart lurches when Lexa waits for Clarke to lead.

Clarke pushes gently and Lexa steps back toward the bed.

Clarke wants to worship her, to discover every niche of her body and hear every timber of her moan.

She has never loved like this-- made love like this-- and the prospect is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

They separate momentarily when the back of Lexas knees hit the bed and she sits down.

Lexa scoots back, and Clarke follows, crawling over her body to merge their lips and their souls.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: IshipBadAssChicks 
> 
> If there are problems with formating or spacing, it's because I wrote this on my phone, so... Ignore them.
> 
> I may write another chapter with the actual smut but I'm undecided right now!


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